Desert Man
by mtfrosty
Summary: A fool off his guard can fall and fall hard out there on the dunes... brief character study through the movies. Tony Stark with a 'grittier' undercurrent running beneath each film. First up: Iron Man (2008)


**"No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness." Aristotle**

* * *

Deserts are dangerous. Environmentally hotter than hot, drier than dry, and grittier than sandpaper with edges sharper than any knife. Mentally draining due to quick fatigue and a lack of company, not to mention being surrounded by a panoramic of shifting sands and dusty horizons. Spiritually fatal, because… well. There are stories of supernatural _things_ that live out there. Demons, spirits, djinn. All of the above wrapped into one strange and twisted creature. Or multiple creatures depending on the region, the time of year, and (most importantly) who you talk to. Regardless, there are universal truths about these things that most will agree on: djinn are typically powerful, mostly mysterious, not to be messed with, and cunningly ruthless. It is rare to come across a djinn with no purpose, no underlying motive and no understanding of the people it's dealing with.

It isn't necessarily rare to find oneself conversing with a benevolent djinn. The locals will more often than not talk about these beings as dangerous, sly, manipulative, and selfish of heart, and yet there _are _stories of good ones. Ones that help if they can, or who are (at the very least) indifferent to the point of participating in human affairs for the purpose of avoiding boredom at all costs.

There are those in chains. No one really knows how the chains get there; they just know that they're there and that's all that matters. Western kids are most familiar with this sort (_"Three wishes to be exact. And ixnay on the wishing for more wishes. Uno, dos, tres. No substitutions, exchanges, or refunds."_). It's a humorous character that condescends for the purpose of painting a picture, but it's a start. Desert kids already have a picture, one in which chains don't belong and yet they're _there_ and the picture is all the heavier because of them. Power is a crafty thing in its own right and even djinn have to face their own demons (and what must _those_ demons be like?).

All of these semi-mythical beings come from the desert. Some are born there. Those born elsewhere always find their way 'home' at some point. If one of them leaves, it's best to give them space. A djinn that has _intentionally_ left the desert is typically up to something, and though the experts are often questioned about what, exactly, these beings might think so important that it needs doing elsewhere, even they never seem capable of pinning down a definitive answer.

_He_ leaves the desert with a singular purpose in mind (it would be hard to argue that any djinn worth his salt _wouldn't_ have a purpose for doing something), one that he's bound to. Wish numero uno (_"Don't waste it._"). It's an odd, yet highly motivational thing to be indebted to a dead man. The debt is never pardoned and it can never be erased, for the man is no longer alive to pardon it or accept payment. This wish will never be fulfilled until the djinn himself dies.

Can djinn die? That's a question for the experts, but don't expect a good answer.

It's interesting that this one only acquires a name once he leaves. Most acquire a reputation beforehand, but _he_ is different. The Red Devil. Savior Djinn. Metal Man (this one is eventually echoed by a Norse god, of all people). It is only in the leaving that he becomes famous. The desert dwellers praise him for his heroics and keep an eye out for his return, but they suspect he won't come back. Call it a feeling.

Word comes by way of mouth and television: the Metal Man is not a djinn at all. There is a man inside the metal and those in the desert make a point to add it to their stories, that a djinn left the desert masquerading as a man (or maybe the man wore the costume first?) and began to shift the world's scenery just as the more mild-mannered spirits shifted sands there at home. It is no myth that men go mad if lost in the dunes, and the few that survive remember hearing faint cackles on the wind. No one ever said that desert spirits liked to play _light-hearted_ jokes.

***oo***

This one has always been a jokester, one that is true to his roots. His jokes are as dry and as course as the desert that he left. _"How did you solve the icing problem?"_ It's rhetorical, obviously, because Obadiah Stane is of the over-overconfident sort that thinks himself invincible. He never considered the icing problem. The time crunch that he'd found himself in required that he forego _all_ considerations and just make immediate use of his new, "cutting-edge" suit.

It's a clunker, but hey, so was his at one point.

Stane dies and Tony Stark takes the podium. His face is a familiar one to everyone with access to a screen. If they're viewing the press conference, they won't be looking at an unknown. Most see an ego-driven, hyper-intelligent, billionaire businessman with fire in his eyes and a newly-found purpose that will probably make a significant wave or two and then settle into the rest of the infinite ocean that is the world's collection of tech conglomerates.

"I am Iron Man," he says, and this is the first wave. It's a public declaration that rocks a thousand boats for a thousand different reasons, none of which are easy to pin down.

In the desert, the one with a terrorist base shot to hell and the cave-turned-grave of a _friend_ the world will never know, the declaration brings relief. Sand spirits are mysterious figures, after all. Always leaving people guessing.

He doesn't require guesswork. Not really.

_I am Iron Man._

In the West, the identity reveal brings scoffing, disbelief, and raised eyebrows. This is an arrogant businessman exercising his overinflated ego for purely selfish reasons. Or so they think, for a while.

In the desert, the identity crisis has reached its end: their Savior Djinn has pronounced himself "Iron Man" and this _means_ something. Names are important in these parts and this one brings a sense of anticipation, because iron is an odd choice.

Iron is past its prime, but it used to be the planet's premier metal. The earliest form of tech advancement if there was such a thing in those days. (What will he _do_?)

Iron isn't all that hard. It bends, it softens, it rusts, it breaks down… as far as metals go, it isn't the first choice for most. (What is his purpose?)

Iron is _fashioned._ Molded. Bent to another's will. (Who _made_ him?)

Most importantly, iron has endured and remained relevant. Up to date. Useful. It's changed with the times, blended in, become versatile. "Iron" is only half of the name. The _first_ half. It's the _descriptor_.

Iron _Man_.

Well... who is the _man _then?

***oo***

Tony Stark stands on the podium and watches dozens of media representatives jump to their feet, shove their devices towards his face, wave their hands to get his attention, and succumb to the fate of all who decide to work in their business. Noisemakers. It's all they've ever been in his eyes and for the first time he wonders if they'll ever _see_ him. If they'll ever become more than they are.

_"I never said you were a superhero."_

And she hadn't. But neither had _he._ He'd thrown out the buzzword to see if they'd grab it and run with it, but oddly enough they hadn't (or not so oddly, because character defects and all that mess). But it would be fantastic and outlandish. He'd meant it when he'd said it. Tony Stark would love to be a superhero.

But he isn't, won't be, will never be in the cards, isn't planning on it, ever. So...

_"... I am Iron Man."_

He'd meant this too and now he stares down the rabid, _noisy _masses as they react to his words. A twitch of a smile flickers into view, but no one seems to notice and if they do, they're too overwhelmed by his bold declaration to care. But this smile is new. It's different. There are edges to it, broken shards beneath it that are somehow, someway held together.

(_Don't waste it._)

It's there for only a moment before it grows into the charmer of a grin that the world is more familiar with. Tony raises a hand and casually gestures to the left side of the drooling throng. "Yes. You with the bowtie..."

Let them see what they want to see.


End file.
